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His head tilted to the side, his chin jutting up in that appraising way attractive men surveyed a crowd. But unlike all the other attractive men I’d seen pass judgment on me, his gaze lingered. He didn’t know what I was—a quarter mage with no real abilities, but I’d just told him I couldn’t do magic on command. I didn’t like the feel of his gaze, like he now knew everything he needed to know about me and found me wanting.
Then, with a jolt, I recalled Edith’s words. “What is your name?” If this man was already insane, then reasoning with him would do no good. Perhaps that was why he assumed I was attacking him.
A small huff escaped him. It might have been a laugh, but it wasn’t a happy one like earlier. “You may call me Ash.”
I sucked in a loud breath. “That’s almost like Arch—” I stopped myself, a little too late.
He looked nothing like Archer really, but his long blond hair and similar name pricked a chord in my heart. I turned away, pressing back a wave of unwanted emotion. A small ripple coursed through the mist hovering over the creek, as if I’d somehow repelled it with my burst of emotion. If this was Silver Creek, then maybe Danny’s fears of monsters in the water were not as ill-founded as I’d once thought.
“Vera Rivers,” I said, my voice still ragged from the thirst and the almost-drowning.
“Hello, Vera.”
His voice drew my eyes back to him once more. That greeting—hearing someone speak my name in this forsaken place—warmed my cold skin and sent a wave of calm through my tense muscles. Ash stared at me with an intensity that anchored me to the ground, and I didn’t think I could move if I wanted to.
“You stole my bow.”
I glanced at the weapon on the ground beside me. “I tried to take the knife, but you’re heavy.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ll trade you, then.” He started to unfasten the belt holding one of his knives. He had another strapped across his back and a small one sticking out of his boot.
“Why?” I stepped back, afraid he’d loop the leather around my neck instead.
Midway through untying the leather, he glanced up at me. His jaw worked as he studied me, but he said nothing. After another tug on the leather, the belt fell loose and he held it out to me.
Still waiting for an explanation, I took it.
Ash dropped his arms and pushed his damp sleeves up to his elbows. “I’ve been here a long time, and I’ve…made my peace with this place. At least, I thought I had. Until you showed up.”
A breeze brought a chill to my wet skin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ash lifted the strap holding his canteen over his head and took a swig. Buzzing with thirst, I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he drank.
“It means you’re disrupting the magic here,” he replied, extending the canteen to me.
I stared at it, the sticky burn in my throat overpowering my rationality that warned I shouldn’t trust someone who’d held a knife to my neck. I snatched the canteen and drained its contents. Wiping the water from my chin, I handed him his empty container.
“Disrupting the magic?” I repeated. “I’m a quarter mage. I don’t disrupt anything.” So much for keeping this piece of information to myself. He needed to know I wasn't the one breaking spells.
He stared at me for so long I couldn’t stop the heat from flaring up my neck and into my face. “The Labyrinth disagrees.” He slung the canteen back over his shoulder.
Water ran in rivulets down the backs of my legs and dripped rhythmically from the ends of my hair as I contemplated his words. “You speak like the Labyrinth thinks.” Maybe madness had already taken this man.
Eventually, he nodded. “It does.”
Okay, I was talking to a madman. Only he didn’t sound mad.
“This place has a mind of its own. The monsters sense your fears as easily as you do. And they always come.” He’d moved a fraction of a step closer as he spoke, and I felt his breath as he added, “The monsters are not always nightmarish in appearance. They can be as subtle as a dream or a whispered word in your ear.”
From this close, I could examine his bearded chin, his expertly shaped nose, his eyes that, when watching me like this, weighed heavy as anvils. The damp fabric of his shirt clung to his strong arms. He seemed more sinister and more handsome each time I looked at him.
“You’re wearing the color of fire wives,” he said. “But you claim you’re not a mage.”
I frowned. “I’m not a fire mage, and I didn’t get married.”
A twig under his feet snapped, and I jumped at the sound.
“My maternal grandparents were mages,” I explained. “Nan was a mind mage, and Pop was a fire mage. I’ve never been able to do any mind magic, but I have occasionally done fire magic—never on demand and never consistently enough to be admitted into the academy.”
